


you take what little i deserve

by Zayrastriel



Category: Mahabharata - Vyasa
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:20:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9668090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zayrastriel/pseuds/Zayrastriel
Summary: Amba demands one final favour of Bhishma.





	

My dying thoughts are slow with cold, but they are fixed on you. Do you remember? When you see my eyes once more, across the battlefield or on a dueling ground, will you remember Amba as you stare into death?

Do you remember my eyes when you were fucking me? That night in a lonely village, at the foot of this mountain where my body will rest.

You said, one final time, that you could not take my hand to draw me ‘round the marriage flames.

_Then take me now_ , I begged, _just once_. Just once to keep me warm when I give myself to the mountain cold. Give me fire in my cold revenge, for you ruined me and my life.

_My vow_ , you protested, but I bit off your words as I fell to my knees before you, the proud eldest daughter of Kashi become supplicant.

_Your vow is to childlessness, not celibacy. Show me what I have lost, in not taking your brother to wed and bed._

Finally, blessedly, you took my hand as I knelt before you on the thatched mat. Your lips brushed against each of my fingertips, just once, as you lowered yourself to the ground, heedless of the sword at your side.

Against your palm, mine was so small. “By this hand shall I be slain,” you promised. “Be it in twenty years or a hundred.”

With my free hand, I tugged away the end of my sari, stood as it unraveled until I was bared to you, red wedding silk pooled at my feet unheeded. Gold chains still rattled around my waist with every shift of my weight. Marriage bands, and sacrilege to the man from whom I was stolen, who had been to undress me tonight.

“You are beautiful,” you said, wistfulness so slight that I lent you the kindness of ignoring it.

“I know.” Both of my hands, I offered to you to take. Though you did, you did not use them to stand. Merely pressed your lips to each of them, softly.

“What do you intend?” We knew so little about each other; had you lain with other women? With men? You must have known that I could not have lain with a man, and pleasing a woman was a foreign country to your hard muscles and the bulge at your groin.

“Any number of things, Princess,” you murmured. “But paramount – your pleasure.”

You released my hands then, to trail your fingers up the insides of my legs, still trapped in red cloth and framed with _mendhi_. Though I bit back the most violent of my reactions, you still smiled at every twitch of my muscles. I was accustomed to the delicate smoothness of my sisters’ touch, not the sword-callused fingers of a warring beast…

…but your touch remained gentle, steady but gentle, and there could be no greater shame than what had already passed, so what matter if I closed my eyes, ceased swallowing my whimpers and gasps as you found the moist warmth between my trembling, weakening legs.

I heard the shift of your knees on the thatched mat, but thought nothing of it until I heard your whispered words – _truly beautiful_ – and another moist warmth joined mine. Your tongue, gently teasing and giving till I was left with no other choice but to cling to your shoulders and bite my lip.

An action you noticed, for you lifted your head from me. “No need to remain silent,” your mouth said, but your eyes were kind – a challenge.

“Enough of that,” I told you, for your kindness and compassion had done enough to me today. “I asked you to take me, not to waste my time.”

For the first time, a flash of anger lit up your eyes. The _Ksatriya_ within, the proud prince and worthy warrior that you had forborne from showing me. Till now, as you rose to your feet and began to strip your armour with ruthless efficiency, never taking your eyes off of me.

_Good. I will need to know how to anger you, if I am to kill you_ , I thought; yet I could not deny, at least not to myself, the thrill that ran over me at the sight of your body, shaped and marked by war and hard work. A strength barely contained, amplified by the heavenly nature of your birth.

You were an immortal warrior, and I a human princess with unscarred hands. In time, I would discover how to make you fall.

But for tonight –

“Take me,” I whispered, my voice trembling with the weakness I was only now permitting myself to show.

You lifted me easily, suddenly – placed me on the bed with little time for me to react. “With pleasure,” and then your fingers were within me, deeper than your tongue could have been.  The pain was a welcome bite, and you seemed to know it. For you barely lingered before withdrawing your hand from me, as my gaze was drawn inexorably to your cock, standing hard and impossibly large compared even to the width of your three fingers within me.

The pain was sharp, a stab wound that I welcomed with a cry of agony as my nails dug into the skin of your back and drew away wet with blood.

“When I kill you, your pain will be tenfold.”

Though the words barely passed through my lips, your hips stilled for a brief instant; long enough to earn you my gaze.

Lust had darkened your eyes, but they glowed still in the flickering firelight. “My pain will be tenfold,” you agreed. A promise, a statement.

Perhaps the gods had granted you, along with all your cursed boons, the foresight of your body lying bleeding and broken at my hand –

A thought, to send fire coursing through my veins as you began to move again, liquid desire pooling with liquid pain around your cock till my legs tightened about your waist and the soft scrape of your finger above my entrance had me shaking and shuddering in your grasp.

You marked me moments later, physical ruin to mirror that of my soul.

* * *

You fell asleep slowly, still buried within me. I waited, till the muscles of your face had lost their tension, till your eyes had finally closed and your jaw slackened.  


In this moment, you were almost mortal; flesh and sweat and semen, a woman in your arms.

A blade to your chest now would hurt you, it would. But you were cursed to choose the manner of your death, and I knew you would not die by my hand.

Not yet.

You did not wake when I untangled my limbs from yours, nor when I hurriedly wrapped the crumpled remains of my sari around myself. You did not wake as my lips pressed against your mouth, relaxed with sleep, nor as they brushed words against your ear - 

“Till the battlefield."


End file.
